Fade to Black: Behind the Curtains
by iaso
Summary: A collection of side stories for Fade to Black!
1. Maen and Shikaku

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* * *

Maen and Shikaku

A History

* * *

Shikaku didn't like babies.

They were loud and they were messy. He always knew when a new baby was born to somebody in the clan because the screams pierced the still air of the Nara compound unlike anything else. And when that noise stopped, he knew it was because the baby either went to sleep, at which point they'd inevitably shit and or piss themselves, or were eating and getting covered in drool, leftover bits of food, and vomit from a meal. He just thought they were gross little bundles of chub.

His cousin Masiji shared that opinion right up until he had a newborn brother—after that, Shikaku was on his own.

"Awh, c'mon," Masiji urged. "He's cute."

"He looks weird. He's all… wrinkled."

"He's a baby, dummy. That's how they're supposed to look."

"Still weird."

Masiji cradled the baby with a grin on his face, a finger reaching up to brush over the top of his head, covered in tufts of pure black.

Both of their parents were strewn across the living room couches a few feet away. Masiji's mother was asleep against his father, and Shikaku could hear his own mother cleaning up the kitchen while their fathers talked. It was all lighthearted conversation. That was a nice change—all Shikaku heard his parents talk about lately was the war, how many of their clansmen were out on the field, skirmishes on the borders. Some parents tried to hide that from their children, but not his. Those were the dinner table conversations, when his parents were around to _have_ dinner table conversations with.

"Hey, Shikaku," Masiji said. His grin turned mischievous. "Wanna hold him?"

Shikaku scoffed. "No way. He stinks!"

"Not anymore than you did when you were that age," Shikaku's mother chimed in.

"You were probably worse," his father added. Shikaku saw his lazy smirk out of the corner of his eye. "If that stench got rounded up into a bomb it'd send those damn sand bugs running."

That got a round of laughter, and Shikaku tried not to flush. "Alright, fine," he grumbled. He stuck out his arms. "Give him to me."

Masiji transferred the bundle to him, the baby's head in the crook of his right arm and his left curled underneath to support its back. "Move your left hand to his back," Masiji said. "And stretch your right arm to touch his toes."

Shikaku, with a few muttered words, adjusted the position.

A couple of minutes ticked by and Shikaku began to relax, the awkward placement of his arms getting a bit more comfortable. He was struck by how warm the thing was. It was kind of like a mini heater in his arms.

"What's his name?" Shikaku asked.

From the couch, Shikaku heard Masiji's mother stir. "Maen," she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Maen Nara."

.

.

Maen Nara was the only baby that Shikaku liked.

He'd never admit to it out loud, but he really did warm up to that ugly thing.

.

.

Masiji tossed a couple of more things in the general direction of his pack and Shikaku grabbed them, one by one, to put them inside. The bedroom was dimly lit, curtains drawn against the vibrant afternoon sun. It was a mess. Drawers were turned out and ninja equipment lay scattered over the floors.

It look like a bomb had gone off. His parents bedroom looked just the same the first time his father was sent to the battlefield.

"They're sending you out?" Shikaku asked.

Masiji rubbed at his head, hair askew. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Tomorrow morning. How'd you know?"

"Dad came and told me they were sending you with his group tomorrow," Shikaku said. "He's mad about it."

"So is mom."

"You _aren't_?"

Masiji shrugged. "I'm twelve," he said. "I'm a chunin," he said.

Shikaku stared at him.

The longer Shikaku stared and the silence stretched on, the more the mask of calm began to crack. It started with the shake of his hand. Then the wobble of his lips. His eye closed, and at this point, his hand was trembling so bad that when he raised it to wipe the tears from his eyes, Shikaku thought Masiji might miss.

"I don't wanna," Masiji whispered. "But I gotta go."

Shikaku was twelve. Shikaku was also a chunin. But he was also the heir to the Nara clan, the only child of his father, who was already heading to the battlefield. They wouldn't send him out when there wasn't a spare heir kicking around.

"I'm sorry," Shikaku said, the only thing he could think.

Masiji shook his head and gave a weak, watery laugh. "Just do me a favour."

"What?"

"Watch my brother for me, okay?"

.

.

Shikaku went almost everyday.

Between his clan duties, what little they made him do, and his training, he went and visited Maen. Sometimes Maen's mother brought him to Shikaku's house and their moms chatted while Shikaku entertained Maen. It didn't take much. Most of the time, Maen slept. Sometimes he smacked whatever was closest to him with a rubber kunai, but Shikaku swore that Maen was out cold for at least twenty hours a day.

Maen was three and a half. Half of a year without his older brother. Half a year with Masiji out on the frontlines. He made sure that Maen didn't get lonely.

Shikaku got letters from Masiji every few weeks. In one of them, Masiji joked about his little brother not recognizing him when he comes back. Shikaku wondered how deep that joke really went.

.

.

Masiji walked through the front door of his house covered in dirt and grime and with two massive scars along his left arm to show for his time spent away.

Shikaku blinked. Maen, who was sprawled on the ground like a starfish, conked out as he always was by this point in the afternoon, started at the sound of the door flying open. There was a second where everything froze.

Maen scrambled up from the ground and ran over to him, shouting, "Jiji! Jiji!"

Masiji dropped everything in his arms to catch his little brother.

"Mom said you weren't back for another three weeks," Shikaku said. "Something about Ame making a push against your line."

"They did," Masiji said over Maen's head. There was a grin on his face, and Shikaku noticed that one of his teeth were missing. "And we crushed them. So, they sent our platoon back."

"Is dad back?" Shikaku asked.

"Yeah. They kept him at the hokage tower for a bit, but he should be home soon."

Shikaku nodded to himself. He looked to Masiji, who jerked his head over his shoulder, in the general direction of Shikaku's house.

"Go," Masiji said. "Seriously."

Shikaku pulled himself up and walked over to the two of them, clapped a hand on Masiji's shoulder. "I'll come back in a bit."

"No rush," Masiji said. He pushed the now sobbing Maen up a bit, so that his head was cradled in Masiji's neck. "And thanks."

Shikaku shrugged and said, "Sure."

.

.

They were shoulder to shoulder among the blades of grass under a tree. A big one, by the forestline, in the backyard of Masiji's house. Few words were exchanged. The silence between them wasn't as comfortable as it always was—there was a strain on it, the elephant in the room.

He noticed a change in Masiji. It was impossible for him to miss it, with the near-intuitive way Shikaku knew Masiji's mannerisms. They grew up together, went to school together, trained together, even got promoted in the same chunin exam. Their fathers were brothers; they raised their sons to share a bond as if they, too, were brothers.

Shikaku set his arms under his head and watched how the canopy frayed the lines of the sunbeams. "What was it like?" he asked.

"Wet." Masiji made a face. "It rained the entire time."

"It rained near Amegakure," Shikaku drawled. "Incredible."

Masiji snorted, but didn't elaborate further.

Shikaku didn't ask again.

.

.

Shikaku and Masiji sat on the floor of the living room. Maen was a few feet away, messing around with a basket of toys and making pretend noises.

Rain droned on in the background.

Masiji tapped his finger against his knee and stared down at a book in his lap.

Shikaku didn't miss the fact that Masiji only flipped the pages of his novel three times in the few hours they were holed up there, or that everytime Maen waved around his rubber kunai, Masiji stiffened.

He reminded himself to hide that toy the next chance he got—he couldn't change the rain, but he could toss the kunai over the wall of the compound.

.

.

"They called me back."

"What? It's only been a month and a half—you're supposed to get two months, at least. Some of the squads even got three."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

" _Shit_."

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Another six months, at least, unless the war ends before that."

"Man…"

" _I know._ "

"This sucks."

"Yeah." A sigh. "Just… watch my brother for me, okay?"

.

.

Shikaku knew something was wrong when his mother shook him awake.

He heard her crying, felt the unsteady grip her hand had on his shoulder, and snapped awake. He forced his eyes open to look at her, the room lit by what of the hallway light crawled in through his cracked door.

He went to sit up and asked, "Is dad alri—"

"No, not him," she mumbled, her voice hoarse. "It's Masiji."

"Masiji?" he echoed. It was just one word, but Shikaku's voice managed to crack on it, stiffened by the tightness in his throat.

"He's gone, Shikaku."

Shikaku felt something in him curl up and wither, like a plant left in the sun without any water, and he stared at his mother.

He knew he wasn't dreaming. He knew she wasn't going to take those words back. He knew that Masiji, his father, any of the Konoha nin out there on the battlefield, could die. He was the heir to the Nara clan—knowing things was their job, his most of all.

For the first time in his life, though, Shikaku wished he didn't have to know.

Shikaku didn't realize he was crying until his mother leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. His gaze stayed forward, on the wall, not a sound leaving his lips as the tears leaked from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks.

.

.

The funeral was held a week later.

Shikaku requested that they wait for a dry day to have it, and not a soul questioned why.

It was small, with Masiji's genin teammates, a few people he knew from the Academy, and relatives. Both of their mothers stood in the front row while both of their fathers were stuck on the frontlines with no chance to return and mourn. Maen, a mess of tears, clung to his mother's leg and buried his face in her skirt.

There were no speeches. There was no casket. There was no song played.

It was just a group of people gathered in front of a photograph for a few minutes to commemorate the loss of a boy taken in a war that felt endless.

.

.

Shikaku tipped his head back and got an eyeful of deep, cloudless azure sky, broken up only by a stray bird when it flew overhead. He heaved a sigh.

He was still half-asleep; it was too early to be awake. His stomach was empty. His hair was falling out of his ponytail and his clothes were mismatched and rumpled, grabbed from the floor of his room and tossed on—he was glad his mother hadn't seen him on his way out of the house. Though, if she had, he might have at least gotten breakfast.

"What a drag," he muttered.

Shikaku cut his eyes back and watched Maen shuffle a couple of feet behind him, not quite awake either but, unlike Shikaku, properly dressed and prepared for the day.

 _As prepared as he can be_ , Shikaku amended to himself. He caught the red-rimmed eyes of Maen's mother when she ushered Maen out the door earlier, the way her face crumbled once she thought neither of them were looking.

"What's it like?"

The question knocked Shikaku off balance. He stared at Maen and asked, "What?"

"The Academy," Maen said. "Mom said it'd be fun and I'd make friends and stuff…"

He shook himself, rid the image of him and Masiji laying in the sun from his mind, brought himself back to reality.

He cleared his throat. There wasn't much 'fun' about a facility that bred children to become weapons of war, in his opinion, but he could see what she was trying to do. Maen was young and even if the village shot him through the Academy like they were doing to more and more Nara as the war went on, Maen had the safety net of age. He could get away with a couple more years of ignorance.

"Boring. I slept through most of my classes," Shikaku said. He considered for a second. "Don't tell your mom I said that."

"'Kay."

"She's right, though," he continued. "You'll make friends. A lot of the kids are gonna suck but you'll find the ones you like."

"Yeah?"

Shikaku shrugged. "Sure."

Maen made a face. "I still don't wanna go."

"I know."

When they got to the school, Shikaku lead him inside and prodded him over to where the rest of the younger kids were sitting on benches. Maen flocked over to where a Yamanaka girl and Akimichi boy were huddled together, both of whom seemed to recognize Maen. Shikaku squinted—Inohara and Chokichi. He met them before, in some capacity or another. Their clans had so many functions together that he could name off most of the younger generation from all three.

Shikaku took a place in the back of the gymnasium. Some of the parents turned to look at him, likely wondering what a thirteen year old boy was doing there, and Shikaku met their gaze with an unflinching, cold stare, daring them to mind their own business. Only a handful seemed to recognize him and averted their gaze.

The hokage gave a speech that Shikaku tuned out, something about the Will of Fire, something about group strength. He didn't need to hear any of it.

It ended and one by one, the children were gathered up and led away. Maen followed without a single backward glance towards Shikaku, engrossed in conversation with Inohara and Chokichi. Shikaku watched the display with a crooked smile.

The whole way home, he stared up at the sky. "I'm doing my best," he said to it. "I hope I do you proud."

.

.

At fourteen, when the war was nearing its sixth year and going strong, Shikaku was drafted in.

He had never seen his mother cry so much in his life.

Shikaku took the duty with the grim-faced resignation that was expected of him and followed his fellow ninja to the battlefield. They couldn't afford to leave anybody off of the frontlines; his father worked the heir angle as long as he could. Inoichi and Choza joined him, both chunin as well.

It was their turn to defend their village.

.

.

It didn't take Shikaku long to understand what Masiji meant over a year prior when he spoke of Amegakure and the war.

It was easier to remember the rain than to remember what happened beneath its cloak.

.

.

He returned from the war a year later with a five o'clock shadow, a litany of scars, and a girlfriend. His mother only approved of _one_ of these things.

Kimiko was a nice girl from a nice ninja family. She was a chunin, a year older than him, with pretty brown eyes and pretty black hair and enough kenjutsu prowess that she was in consideration for a special jounin promotion. They worked in the same squad for the whole of their time on the battlefield, leaving in the same cycle. She was a bright spot amongst the dark blot that the war created in the timeline of his life.

Both of his parents liked her, and when Kimiko wasn't around, his mother even made a few offhanded mentions of marriage. Shikaku could see it happening. He could see it _working_.

The only person that didn't seem to like her was Maen.

"She's kind of smelly," he said when Shikaku introduced them.

"It's perfume," Kimiko had answered.

"Oh. It smells kinda like my granny did."

Shikaku laughed. Kimiko didn't.

He kept the two of them apart after that, which wasn't for very long because Kimiko dumped him within a couple of month of coming back from the war. He wasn't too bothered by the breakup, which only served to make it all the nastier.

Shikaku would never admit it, but he knew part of the reason was that Maen never liked her—that was a strike against any girl he brought home.

.

.

Five years passed in a blink.

Shikaku turned twenty, got married, and moved in with his new wife Yoshino. They were happily married—in the back of his mind, Shikaku always reminded himself to thank Maen for insulting Kimiko on their first meeting.

His father began the process of grooming Shikaku to become the new head of the clan in earnest. Shikaku grew more involved with his clan, with the village as a whole. He was promoted to jonin. Within months of that promotion, there were whispers afoot of Shikaku potentially taking the position as Jonin Commander a few years down the road. Life was moving fast.

Then the war happened.

.

.

Unlike the last time, Shikaku was shipped off to the frontlines in the first batch of ninja, accompanied by his father and Yoshino. They were out there for six grueling months.

.

.

Shikaku tossed his pack to the floor of his parents entryway. He had a second to prepare himself before his mother was on him and had him in her arms—as much as she could, at least. She was a tiny woman whose head barely reached his shoulders. Yoshino and his father both got the same treatment, and his mother ushered them into the house.

They got into clean clothes, showered, and sat down to a meal around the table. It was their first real meal since leaving. Conversation drifted around a bit. Village politics. War progress on the other fronts. Clan squabblings.

"How're things around here?" Shikaku asked.

"Stable," his mother answered. "Shiki's been a huge help, especially with keeping some of the administrative stuff in check." She rolled her eyes. "You know how some of those pricks can get."

"Any of them give you too much trouble?" his father asked.

His mother gave his father a brief smile and reached over to pat his hand. "No, dear. Nothing Shiki and I couldn't handle."

"Good."

"What was the issue?" Yoshino asked.

His mother pursed her lips. "The usual issue our clan gets when war comes around. We get 'em at the Academy trying to pump our kids through the system as fast as those damn Uchiha and Hyuga."

"This soon?" Shikaku asked. He knew that issue all too well—his own early graduation was a product of it. "They waited a couple of years in the last war before they started putting pressure on us."

"Different war, different needs," his father piped in. "Doesn't help any that we're losing real bad."

"Our position last time got bad but…" His mother shook her head. Shikaku saw that she had more gray hair than when he left, the lines in her face were more harsh. She laughed. "Shiki nearly blew a gasket on 'em when one of the teachers called him in to try and negotiate an early graduation for Maen."

"He's still got two years left," Shikaku said.

"And if Shiki gets his way that boy's ass isn't leaving a seat until those two years are up."

She left it unsaid, but Shikaku knew how she wanted to finish that sentence.

 _Not after Masiji._

"Good," he muttered.

Maen was as smart as a Nara came. He had promise. In that way—and so many painful others—he was just like Masiji.

Shikaku felt lucky that Maen also had the full force of the Nara laziness behind him, because if things are as he left it, nothing in this world could make Maen do his homework. There was no way for them to build a case to push him through early if they based it on his grades.

.

.

"So how's school?"

"Dumb," Maen said. "My teacher started throwing training kunai at me when I fall asleep."

"Just lay on the floor. The desk can cover you."

"I tried that. They took my desk."

Shikaku scoffed. "Just have Inohara and Chokichi cover for you. Defensive practice for when you guys graduate."

Maen pulled a face, though half of it was covered by his arms, which he had rested overtop of his eyes.

They were on Shikaku's back porch. A game of shogi was out between the two of them, half-finished and forgotten in favor of a nap break. Maen was sprawled out on a mat, basking in the sun. Shikaku stared down at him, his back against the house, his legs stretched out behind Maen's head.

"Mom said to start having a clone take my spot while I lay outside."

"I like her thinking."

"My clone's are too sucky. Mr. Hirai'd see through it."

"Just stop going," Shikaku said.

"That's what dad said."

Shikaku shrugged, even though Maen couldn't see it. "What're they gonna do? Flunk you?"

Maen grinned. "I like that idea."

They lapsed into silence.

Shikaku hated that the conversation was happening in the first place. His ten year old cousin shouldn't have to ponder civil disobedience to avoid getting tossed into a war that he wasn't prepared for. It wasn't an issue unique to the Nara. Everybody felt the pressure.

Shikaku pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He took a drag.

Maen moved one of his arms to wave a hand in front of his face and clear out the smoke. "Gross," he mumbled. "Go do that somewhere else."

"My house," Shikaku said. "I can smoke wherever the hell I want."

"No you can't!" Yoshino shouted from inside the house. "Get off the porch before I come out there and _kick you off_!"

Maen smirked. Shikaku stood up and knocked his foot into Maen's arm on the way. Maen yelped—that knocked the smug look off his face.

Small victories.

.

.

Two months later, both of Maen's parents were called to the front line.

.

.

Two months later, both of Maen's parents were killed in action.

.

.

Shikaku sat with his head in his hands. Yoshino lay a hand on his back, rubbed small circles in it, her head on his shoulder. Maen was asleep in their guest room; he cried himself into unconsciousness, and it was the first time he slept since getting the news about his parents two days prior.

"Somebody needs to take him," Shikaku muttered.

"Your mom offered."

Shikaku sat up with a heavy sigh. "Mom's also forty-five and getting sicker. The last thing she needs is to go through the process of raising a boy again."

Nobody knew what to do with Maen.

It wasn't a matter of people who were _willing_ to take him—most Nara would be honoured to take him on as their charge. Maen was a good kid.

The issue was figuring out where they could put him that would make him happy. Shikaku's mother was safe because Maen was familiar with her, to the point where in some ways she was his second mother. She'd done as much as anybody else when Masiji passed. She'd stepped forward when they were first sent to the front lines.

Shikaku's mother, however, was also ill and in no shape to care for a ten year old boy on her own. She was getting older and the life of a ninja was hard on the body. She'd retired when she became a mother, but she lived a full life; she was born a year before the village was founded, grew up during the First Great War and fought in it during the last years, was an active duty ninja right up until she had Shikaku at age twenty five. That doesn't account for all of the work she's done for the clan and raising Shikaku after she 'retired'.

The only reason the idea was tempting was because if she didn't take Maen, Shikaku would have to.

Shikaku and Yoshino were the only other adults—and he used that term _loosely_ —in the clan that Maen was close with. He had a few friends his age but Shikaku doubted he knew their parents well enough to want to live with them for at least a few years.

More than that, all Shikaku could remember was Masiji, seven years ago, standing in his bedroom with tears on his cheeks and a mission pack in his hands. _"Watch my brother for me, okay?"_

The last conversation he ever had with Masiji. _"Watch my brother for me, okay?"_

Shikaku rubbed a tired hand over his face. "We have to take him."

"You think?" Yoshino asked.

"Yeah. I need to do it."

Yoshino sat back to look him in the eye. "Are you sure about this?"

"No," Shikaku said. "Not even a little."

"But you— _we_ , don't have a choice," she finished.

"Exactly."

Yoshino nodded a few times, slow, considering. "We'll tell him when he wakes up. Bring his clothes over, make the guest room his. I'll have to go pick up some groceries. If we're going to be feeding a little boy we're going to need way more nutritious foods, and snacks… and we need more linens. Way more linens."

Shikaku cracked a tired grin. "I love you."

Yoshino pecked him on the lips. "I love you too."

.

.

The first few months were rough.

Maen acted out. He got in trouble at school, shirked his training, got despondent without any warning. Some days, getting him to eat was impossible. But they got through it. Things fell into a routine that they were comfortable with. The world around them was at war, but in their home at least, peace was a possibility.

.

.

The hawk came in the middle of lunch.

Shikaku had a mouthful of soup in his mouth that turned to mud when the bird ducked in through the open window above their sink. He saw Yoshino stiffen across the kitchen. Both of them knew what was coming, what the contents of the little scroll on its ankle were. The village was due to cycle out the current frontline fighters.

Maen's head was down on the table, half-asleep still. He was skipping his morning classes.

He wished that wasn't the case so that he and Yoshino could have had the chance to break it to Maen in a different way.

"Shit," Shikaku muttered.

Maen picked his head up and looked around, curious, but his expression soured when he took in the whole of the scene, the tension in Shikaku and Yoshino, the hawk. "What?"

Yoshino frowned. She set her bowl down and went over to the hawk to grab the scroll. The look on her face as she read it confirmed everything Shikaku suspected. Yoshino leaned her back against the counter, expression pinched. The paper crinkled beneath her fingers from how tight her grip was.

"How soon?" Shikaku asked.

Her eyes flit up to him and then went back down to the scroll. "A week."

" _Shit_."

"You're going back," Maen said. "They're putting you on the front lines again."

Yoshino pulled her lip between her teeth. She looked to Shikaku.

"We're not winning this war. They have to take everybody they can get," he said. "I'm a jonin. Yoshino's a chunin. They can't let us sit back while others are stuck out on the frontlines."

Maen walked out of the kitchen without another word.

Shikaku let out a breath. Yoshino scrawled out a reply and sent it back with the hawk. She watched it fly away, hands gripped against the counter.

"You probably could've been a bit nicer," she mumbled.

"That _was_ nice."

Yoshino pointed out at the porch. Shikaku could see Maen sitting on it through the glass doors, head bowed. "Go talk to him," she said. She sounded tired. "He's had a couple of minutes to cool down."

She was right. Yoshino was always right.

He hauled himself up and shuffled over to the back door.

Maen didn't look up at him when he pulled the door open and walked out onto the porch, shedding his slippers as he stepped over the threshold. Shikaku dropped down beside him. Maen sat with his hands in his lap, his gaze downcast. Shikaku could sense his frustration, fear, anger, and take a pretty solid guess as to where it all stemmed from. The hard part was figuring out what to do about it.

"I know you and Yoshino are strong," Maen mumbled, saving Shikaku from having to kickstart the conversation. "I know you guys are probably coming back."

"But you thought the same about your parents," Shikaku finished.

"Yeah."

Shikaku weighed his options. "Yoshino and I don't work in the middle of things the way your parents were," he finally said. "Your parents were stationed right up by the battlefield, running missions in a squad. We're being used further back for a larger-scale kind of strategy, where dad was always stationed."

It's wasn't Shikaku telling Maen that they'd come back alive, but it was as close as he could get. Shikaku lightly clapped him on the back and went back inside to leave Maen to his thoughts.

.

.

They came back alive.

.

.

Three years into the war, when Shikaku and Yoshino left the village for the battlefield, Maen, thirteen years old and newly promoted to chunin, joined them. It was a rough six months for all involved.

That was a trend for the rest of the war, Shikaku found. Maen was always in a seperate part of the fighting and away from Shikaku, especially once Shikaku was moved into more combat missions, more tasks that had him on the move with Inoichi and Choza. Having Maen out there was difficult enough for Shikaku as it was, but having Maen out of his vicinity, reachable only by messenger and with a day and a half delay, sucked.

The last chunk was the worst. At that point, Maen was a special jonin and on missions that took him behind enemy lines. Shikaku hated every minute of it.

To Shikaku, the end of the war means a chance to breathe, to find peace, the thing that they had such a small taste of but never got to fully grasp and feel the beauty of. He was ready to find some level of normal again.

.

.

Shikaku pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a sharp breath. "ANBU?"

"Lord Hokage offered me the position," Maen said. "What was I going to do? Say no?"

"Yes, that's _exactly_ what you should have done."

"I can handle it."

"You _can't_ —"

"I _can_."

Maen turned to walk away but Shikaku caught him by the wrist before he could get very far. Shikaku pulled Maen back to face him, not hard, just enough to make a point.

"Listen to me," Shikaku said, voice low. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"I'm _sixteen_ , Shikaku, I'm old enough—"

"Don't try that with me. You're too fucking young for this."

"How would you know?" Maen asked. He jerked his arm away. "You were never in ANBU."

"I've seen the aftermath enough times to know that it's a damn terrible idea. I see those mission reports. I see those ninja. I'm not ANBU, but you know I've got a damn high rank in the intelligence sector—these are things that cross my desk. Not to mention the people I know who've been ruined by their time in ANBU."

"So?"

"Would you just listen to me?" Shikaku snapped. He could see the flicker of surprise. Shikaku didn't snap. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't get _angry_. Nara didn't get angry, they got even. _To hell with that_ , Shikaku thought. "This is going to _kill you_ , Maen. If not literally, then on the inside. That's what ANBU does to people—it chews them up and it spits them out an entirely different person from how they entered, if it spits them out at all."

Maen cast Shikaku a look of cold indifference. "Then so be it."

Shikaku let him walk away that time.

.

.

"It's a boy," Yoshino murmured.

Maen stared at the bundle in awe. The newly named Shikamaru Nara was a pint-sized baby with a massive puff of black hair on his head. Their son. Their baby boy.

Shikaku spent three solid hours just watching his wife hold their son, coo at him. He did his own fair share of the above during that time as well, when Yoshino took a break to get some sleep, but he got the most enjoyment out of watching his wife interact with the baby, the tender look on her face and the glow of her skin.

Seeing Yoshino with their son was number one for Shikaku, but watching Maen hold him for the first time happened to be a close second. It had been a long time since Shikaku saw that kind of softness in Maen's face.

.

.

The Kyuubi Attack left the village in shambles.

Countless dead. Buildings in ruin, their hokage gone.

Shikaku got promoted up to jonin commander to replace the last one, who died during the attack.

Maen didn't tell Shikaku until months later, but following the invasion, he got promoted to the rank of ANBU captain.

.

.

Shikaku found that the worst part of Maen being in ANBU was that he didn't know.

If Maen got hurt, he wouldn't find out until after the healing had started, once the ANBU operatives had done security checks on their returned comrade. He didn't know where Maen is at half of the time. He didn't get access to that information until after the fact. It gnawed at him.

Shikaku knew that when Shikamaru grew up, it'd only be over Shikaku's dead body that his son joined ANBU.

.

.

The first time Shikaku met one of Maen's boyfriends, it was when they both happened to visit him in the hospital at the same time. It was an accident, really. Shikaku doubted he would've ever found out Maen was dating in the first place—and a man, dating a man, Shikaku couldn't help but wonder what he did to make his cousin feel like he had to keep that a secret—if he hadn't walked in on them holding hands in their sleep.

Shikaku knew the guy, one Teruo Hirose. He was nineteen, the same age as Maen. Special jonin. Young, promising, and without question also a part of ANBU.

Shikaku closed the door behind him and leant his back against the pristine white walls. He tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest. He thought they looked cute together. Teruo had a bit of a baby face with delicate features, a stark contrast to the rough and sharp lines that made up Maen's face.

At the sound of the door closing, Teruo stirred. His expression when he noticed Shikaku there was akin to a startled deer.

Shikaku waved him off. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled. "I'm just checking in."

Teruo looked nervous but got comfortable in his seat once again and was out in seconds. There were impressive bags under his eyes. From what Shikaku could gather, they had gotten in a little under a week ago, though he only found out about the incident a few hours earlier. It was touch and go with Maen. Multiple surgeries to repair severe muscle damage, and he had at least another two weeks in there to help with the internal injuries. But he was presumed to make a full recovery.

Shikaku didn't linger much longer.

As long as Maen had some semblance of happiness, Shikaku was satisfied to take a back seat in his life.

.

.

The more time went on, the less Shikaku saw of Maen. His cousin became a ghost.

At points, entire months would go by between the visits Shikaku got from him, and each visit was shorter and shorter. Shikaku noticed that his cousin picked up smoking, a habit that Shikaku ditched the day he became a father.

He worried. The topic of Maen was a touchy one. In some ways, Shikaku felt like he failed Maen—knew it, really, but denial was a nice crutch—worse than he ever imagined he could back when Maen's parents first died. He wondered if they were watching from above and cursing Shikaku for letting their son slip away into the shadows. He wouldn't have blamed them.

The situation was a difficult one that Shikaku didn't have nearly enough time to properly handle.

He wondered often whether he'd live to regret that.

.

.

The only time Shikaku ever got to see Maen immediately after he returned from an ANBU mission gone bad was when they were certain he was going to die from his injuries.

Two members of Maen's squad were dead and the third was in critical condition, same as Maen. One of the dead was Teruo. The man had been on Maen's squad on and off for years, though they were no longer seeing each other in any kind of romantic sense.

By some miracle, Maen pulled through. The only lasting injury was damage to his left hip which the medics said would take upwards of a month to fully heal, but _would_ fully heal. He would be fine—physically, at least. There was no telling what kind of lasting mental damage Maen would sustain from the mission.

Shikaku was at his bedside when Maen first woke up. From the look on Maen's face, he seemed as surprised as most of the medics that he was even alive.

"Close call," Shikaku said.

Maen rubbed at his face. "Yeah," Maen answered. He winced. His voice was dry from a lack of use over the last week and a half.

Shikaku handed him a glass of water that Maen sipped on. "What happened?"

"Ambush." A look of grim resignation took over Maen's face. "The others?"

"Teruo and Ryuu didn't make it."

Pain was in his face. Shikaku was surprised that Maen wasn't trying to hide any of it, but he figured the shock of waking up when you didn't think you ever would had him too badly off balance for that.

"Mika?"

"Critical but alive."

Maen closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Shikaku pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his shirt pocket, snuck in past the medics. He tossed them onto the bed.

Maen grabbed them, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Hope Yoshino didn't see you with these."

Shikaku shrugged. "Yeah." He eyed Maen. "She was worried about you, y'know."

"She's always worried."

"Shikamaru was worried, too. He's been asking where you are."

Maen scoffed, the cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "That's a low blow."

"It was meant to be."

"I gotta do my job."

"I'm not saying you can't," Shikaku answered. "I'm just telling you people out there are worried for you."

 _There are people who notice when you're gone. If you died, we'd care._

Shikaku hadn't even known Maen was out on a mission until a messenger delivered the news that his cousin was on his deathbed, and that Shikaku had _minutes_ to make it to the hospital if he wanted a chance to say goodbye. They were wrong. They wouldn't always be wrong.

 _I don't want to have to explain to my three-year-old that his uncle died._

"I know."

Shikaku reached forward and mussed Maen's hair like he used to when Maen was little. Maen, unable to move, had no choice but to accept it. Shikaku cracked a grin.

"Yoshino wants you to stay with us once they let you out of here," Shikaku said.

"I've got my own house that's a five minute walk from yours."

"She still wants you to come over," he said. He waved a hand. "Something about injured people not recovering on their own, whatever. Your hip's in pretty terrible shape so it'll be at least a month before you're up and walking properly."

"I don't get a choice, then."

"Not even a little."

Maen blew out a breath of smoke. "Good to know."

"It won't kill you to spend some quality time with us," Shikaku said. "Us old folk need a bit of company every once and a while."

 _Just come. She needs to see you alive with her own eyes._

"Yeah, yeah. I'll do it."

"Yes, you will."

.

.

The month wasn't up before Maen took a mission.

No ninja, not even a Nara, can handle over a month without work.

Shikaku stood at the threshold to the guest room where Maen was staying, his shoulder leant against the side. He was sure his face reflected how unimpressed he was.

"I don't have to tell you why this is stupid, right?"

"It's a C-rank."

"Which involves you going roughly three days out of Konoha to get to where the meeting place is," Shikaku said. Maen looked at him over his shoulder. "I read the mission scroll."

"I can't go from taking endless missions to sitting on my ass for a month straight."

Shikaku pinched the bridge of his nose. "I get that. What I don't get is why you're going _so far_."

"It's a C-rank," Maen repeated. "Nothing is going to happen."

"Something always happens. That's how this works."

"It'll be fine, Shikaku."

Shikaku sighed. "Just be careful, alright?"

"Sure."

.

.

Shikaku had the "I told you so" of the century when Maen returned from his mission with a four-year-old orphan at his heels.

He supposed, though, that it all worked out fine in the end. Eventually.

* * *

.


	2. Inari

.

* * *

Inari

Moving Forward

* * *

Inari grasped the straps on his backpack, eyes set ahead.

The sounds of the dock around him were familiar, as was the scent of the seawater and the fog that clung to the air. There were fishermen around him, hauling their equipment out to their vessels and pushing off the dock, and tradesmen bringing ashore their wares. It was the biggest dock in Wave, located on the east coast, perfect for receiving imports and departing for foreign shores.

He steeled his resolve. He refused to think about what lay behind him, what he'd walked away from.

His mother was dead, his grandfather was dead, and to celebrate, the village named the bridge that caused it after Inari.

There was nothing left for him there.

Inari shook his head and walked towards a man who stood by a small boat on the edge of the dock, looking bored. He was an older man, with shaggy grey hair and a beard. Inari hated how much the man reminded him of Tazuna. It almost made Inari stop and look for somebody else, but he kept walking, right up to the man.

"'Scuse me," Inari said. "Can you take me somewhere?"

The man looked around, as if startled, then turned his gaze down to find Inari. "Eh? Where're your parents, boy?"

"Not here."

"Well, I ain't gonna help you then."

"What? Why not?"

The man scoffed. "What if your parents come lookin' for ya? Huh? I'm not gonna—"

"They're dead. They won't be lookin' for me."

The man cut stopped short. He sighed and reached up to scratch his head. "That so," he muttered. "Fine. Where you wanna go?"

Inari slipped off his bag and pulled a map out of it, a location circled in runny black ink.

"Wha—are you _insane_? Did you hit your head on the way here, boy? You don't wanna go there!'

"Take me there," Inari said. He reached in again and pulled out a plump bag of coins. He didn't know how much was in there, or how much the trip would cost, but he figured it had to be enough. "I've got money."

"That's not the point," the man said. "Kirigakure is no place for a child like you."

"I don't care!"

"They'll eat you alive. That place'll be your grave, boy."

"So what?" Inari shouted. He felt a wetness on his cheeks—at some point during the conversation, he'd started crying, but he didn't know when. "I told ya, _I don't care_!"

People were starting to stare at them, their voices now loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the dock.

The man scowled. "Fine, fine. You wanna throw a hissy fit? Fine. I'll take you there." He stooped down and got to work on unhooking the boat from the dock. He paused, long enough to give Inari a piercing stare. "But don't tell me I didn't warn ya."

Inari sniffed and reached up to wipe the tears from his face. "Whatever, you geezer."

If he died, then he died. Inari meant it when he said that he didn't care. He had to do this.

Kirigakure was the only village he could get to. It was close. He walked half a day from his village on a straight road, and the lady who gave him directions in the village the docks were attached to said that Kirigakure was the same. A straight walk from where he'd dock. She said that they'd find him, and he believed her.

He'd find Kirigakure and he'd make them teach him to be a ninja, no matter what it took.

Inari refused to be defenceless ever again.


End file.
